


The Worst Feeling

by Cers



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, BIG OOF, Big oof y'all, C2E97 Spoilers, Misunderstanding, PTSD, Peace talks not a thing in this, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:22:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23233927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cers/pseuds/Cers
Summary: The Mighty Nein are on the trail of the second beacon and set out to reach it before losing it again.A teleportation mishap occurs, and one of them pays the price.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 76





	The Worst Feeling

“If we are all ready?” Essek looks around at his friends. The Nein are bobbing their heads, and a blue hand to his right squeezes his own gently. “Very well.”

Essek closes his eyes and lifts his chin. With his spare hand he drifts delicate movements across the space in front of him, focussing on the imagery from Jester’s scry. His breathing is paced, deliberate, practised. The only sound was that of the blood in his ears, the energy in his veins, and the thrum of the arcane beginning to spark as it envelopes him. 

It is one of the best feelings he had ever known. 

The image becomes clearer and clearer in his mind. A forest, an off-beaten road, a lake- and an area on the map where Jester believes the second beacon was transported to. As she had scried Beauregard had been ready, furiously writing every single detail Jester spoke out loud while her eyes observed scenery unbeknownst to the rest of them. They had one chance to reach it. 

While she had done this, the others had scurried off in a rush of organisation. The rest of the party had disbanded from the Xhorhaus ‘War Room’ to collect supplies, components, armour, weaponry and whatever else they might need for this mission. Jester had not budged, instead slammed her artist’s’ kit onto the table as soon as she was done. Beauregard had left to pack their necessities. Within minutes Jester had produced a detailed painting to accompany Beauregard’s faithful notes, drawn in fearful frenzy lest she lose important specifics. 

She had been direct and determined upon presenting it to him, inundating him with yet more minutiae of her scry as they had sat, heads bowed close together studying the oicture of last known location of the beacon transport. She had been competent and focussed with her details, enough so that Essek had a mental image of the location so vivid it almost felt like a distant memory.

The fact that they found a lead on it at all was sheer luck, and now they raced against time before losing this thin, fragile thread. 

Soon shouts were then heard through the house that the rest were ready, and Essek and Jester had descended downstairs swiftly- her bounding in heavy strides, and him floating with no care for pretenses. Time was of the essence. 

They had convened in the parlour, a room with enough space and little furniture to accommodate them all. Ready and waiting, Essek had almost taken aback by the serious gravity donning the group’s otherwise usually jovial faces. 

But there was no time for that. He had taken Jester’s hand- who held Caduceus and so on, and concentrated. 

“If we are all ready?”

The last thing he hears before the illuminating light of his spell overtakes them, as he secures his other hand in Fjord’s to his left, is a whimper from Veth that ‘this is the part she _hates’_.

* * *

Teleportation is not easy. It is a science, a guess, an art, a calculation, an estimation and a gamble all at once. The visuals and particulars from Jester guides his way, and with time bearing down on them like a mountain, he wonders if his nerves overcame him for just a second. For something just out of sorts enough to misplace them. 

His senses are assaulted in a single moment of eternity with _pain_ and _force_ and _wrong_ and _bad_. The superimposition of himself and his friends in an already occupied space of the world was violating enough to panic Essek in the moment as the spell continues to push through and replants them elsewhere. To somewhere else Essek redirected them to in his crushing momentary terror. 

The few seconds after the spell fades are delirious to them all. He can hear moans, and hisses of pain. One hand in his is squeezing tight still and the other let go as soon as physically possible thrusting his away. Dizziness swirls his head in awkward circles. His body remembers the pain of the teleport mishap, but he shows no outwards signs of injury. It is always a jarring sensation. 

Essek spends those few seconds calming his breathing, chest aching and legs shaking a little before opening his eyes. 

“Oh man, oh _man_ , that _really hurt_ -”

“I.. don’t feel so good you guys-”

“Wow. Oh- Oh yeah, that’s- that’s not… hmm.”

“Is everyone all right?” 

His face twists into an reptentant grimace as he looks at his disgruntled, but otherwise intact, group. “I apologise, my friends. It- it is not always possible to be precise when _unfamiliar_ -”

Fjord interrupts him with a hand on his shoulder and a weak smile. “We know, it’s okay. Just- just give us a minute to recover.” And Essek does, the shame still burning in his chest.. Caleb is rubbing his neck and checking his holster, Veth is bending over, leaning on her knees. Yasha seems mostly poised except for a twitch turning her mouth downwards as she looks around, arms crossed. 

Jester huffs and blows out a loud sigh before putting her hands on her hips and spinning on the spot. There _is_ a lake. There _are_ trees. But not _quite_ the right kind of trees. 

“Oh, this doesn’t look like my drawing does it?” she observes, pulling said article from where she had tucked it into her belt. She holds it up and turns around some more slowly, moving the paper up and down from her eye line as she goes to compare. “Mmm, nope. Doesn’t look like it- oh hey, what’s that?”

She points behind Essek and they all turn to look. 

The area they are in is definitively wild. There are roots and brambles overgrowing on the edge of the forest next to them, with the general squawks and calls that come from undomesticated wildlife. The lake behind them is placid and calm. All in all a pleasant scene. Luckily for Essek, the sky above was very overcast, but it was decidedly _not_ the bright, blue skies Jester had insisted she saw only a half hour ago. 

But there, over the treeline to the north was the unmistakable spires of a building. And as he spends time scrutinising, Essek's eyes widen when he sees that those spires are _familiar_. Recognition crashes thought him as he realises his error- a subconscious mistake that caused him and his friends harm. The landscape Jester had seen- she could have described it to the last leaf on the ground and Essek’s memory _still_ would have betrayed them. His horror grows as a thousand excuses are racing through his mind all ready to tumble from his lips-

When he hears a choked gasp and a thud and several cries of _‘Caleb_!’

Essek swings around ready to eviscerate the first hostile he lays eyes on, hand outstretched already when his vision hones in on Caleb who has fallen to _his knees_ \- 

Caduceus is already sweeping down down to his level, hand on Caleb’s back, face severe with concern-

Caleb’s torso is heaving with laboured breaths, eyes fixated on those _towers_ -

Jester is hovering over, tentatively reaching for him, begging him to look at her-

But his vision is clouded and his hands land hard on the filthy earth-

Essek’s own hand reaches for him, building spell now forgotten- 

And Caleb’s fingers are scrambling to claw the grass around him in manic gestures-

 _What’s happening?_ Essek doesn't understand. _Why is Caleb-_

Trembling and his heaves turn to uncontrollable retching-

Veth, her discomfort forgotten is screeching in panic, begging Caleb to tell them what’s wrong-

But he’s only mumbling and muttering and it’s Zemnian and gibberish and he’s spitting vomit through his teeth- 

Beauregard is panicked and worried, her hands outstretched but she doesn't know what to do, eyes flickering wildly between the clerics and her friend- 

Whose eyes squeeze shut as his elbows collapse- 

Jester catches his shoulders before he is face first in his own regurgitation-

In a swift movement, Yasha is moving, sweeping the area looking for a foe, her teeth bared and weapon drawn- 

Caleb flinches and is curling in on himself, hands scrambling to his coat, his collar, his shirt, his neck- his pendant- 

Fjord’s hand, friendly only moments ago whirls Essek around forcefully enough to hurt-

“Where _are_ we?” and there’s concern, fury, and _fear_ in his piercing gaze, and his sword is out as he _demands_ of Essek words Essek fails to say but there’s so much _happening_ at once- 

Caleb is gasping, choking on his scrambled words now,-

“E _ssek!_ Answer me, damnit!”

Beauregard has her hands clutching the side of her head, almost covering her ears as she tries to drown out the frantic weeping of Caleb-

Another hand, stronger, _bigger_ , tears Essek around to its owner with such a violent intensity that he jerks and now he is facing down the full fury of Yasha Nydoorin who has a storm in her frenzied eyes and lightning in her tribal blood- 

And Essek doesn’t understand what’s _happening_ just that they’re here and Caleb is down and hurt-

“Get. Us. Away.” It was not a question, it was not up for debate. And yet Essek, his mouth working soundlessly, remains rooted to the ground as though gravity itself had chained him down and the irony would make him laugh it weren’t for Caleb’s convulsive whimpers-

 **_“NOW!”_ **A crash of thunder _splits_ open the sky with her demand and the downpour is drenching them all in moments - 

And he’s flinching, enough to jolt him to the present. Essek’s senses find themselves, rivulets or rain run through his hair and down the back of his chilled neck, his sodden mantle now anchoring him to reality. Flanked by Fjord and Yasha, he moves in close to the almost catatonic Caleb while Caduceus’ hand on his back is glowing a faint pink in the dark deluge and Jester’s fingers are moving soaked red hair out of haunted blue eyes with a healing green light to them-

It’s the open space, the lake beside them spattering loudly as heavy raindrops bombard its previously serene surface and it’s like a growing droning noise that’s loudly deafening Essek as his fingers shakily repeat the necessary symbols-

This time there’s no quiet remark from Veth. There’s no squeeze of a hand to his right. The light that parts the heavy grey, like a dawn through a thick fog, is cold and accusing this time.

And then they are back in Rosohna. 

Caleb is unmoving, his eyes closed, brow furrowed, and mouth slack- vomit still evident on his chin. Yasha pushes past Essek without a single care of bruising him, and parts the clerics gently. 

She soon has a limp Caleb scooped up in her arms, and is stomping away and out of the Circle Room of the Lucid Bastion. Jester and Veth scramble behind her without a word or acknowledgement to him, worry etched deeply into their faces. 

Beauregard is statuesque, not having moved, and just staring at the puddle of water where Caleb had been laying. Her expression is _hard_ and _angry_ , muscles in her jaw working overtime clenching and unclenching her teeth. Almost imperceptibly she is shaking too, with fists drawn tight and mouth working hard to not pull into a fierce snarl. He’s never seen her so _hateful_.

Whatever internal battle she was waging comes to a temporary halt and then she too marches out of the room loudly without looking to him, her footfalls hard and breathing heavy. 

Caduceus’ face is set into a grim line and he spares one look- a pitying one, Essek thinks- his way. His hand hovers over Essek’s shoulder hesitantly as he passes, before he pats him twice. He leaves quietly, the only sound is the _thonk-thonk-thonk_ of his staff getting fainter on the marble floor.

Fjord is the last one remaining. His body is almost the mirror of Beauregard’s except his glare is pinning Essek to the spot like a cage. He makes no such effort to school his expression. 

“Where _was_ that.” 

Essek’s mouth opens to ... to _what_ ? He doesn’t know. He wants to laugh. Hysterically. To scream. To shout, to cry to yell to explain to _help-_

But all he can say is- “Where I took the beacons the first time.” His voice is quiet and honest and Essek wants to tear his own throat out as he whispers it. 

“No.” It wasn’t a word, it was a warning. “ _Where_. _Was. That_.”

The seconds may well have been days for all they took to pass. Essek can’t even lift his head to look Fjord in the eyes. “It- it was a place I was told to go. When all the arrangements had been made.” _When the deal had been struck_. “It-” he falters. “It was a hospital of some kind. A healing facility, I was told. It belongs to the Assembly.” Each word drips from him like acid burning his lips. The taste is bitter and sinful. 

Fjord’s silence is damning, and Essek tentatively lifts his head to view him, at a complete loss.

“ _You goddamn, stupid-ass motherfuck._ ”

Essek doesn’t know why, but hearing those few words feels like a death sentence being passed over him. A terminal statement that crushes Essek’s budding, recent hopes to dust. The rainwater still dripping down his back turns to razor sharp ice on his skin.

“It was the _Sanatorium_ , Essek.” he spits. As if that clarifies everything. A frustrated growl tears from Fjord, and it’s heavy, tired, accusing, and condemning all at once. "Gods, no wonder he-" He's shaking his head disbelievingly. “ _Fuck!_ ”

Essek isn’t given any more of an explanation than that, but he is given a look so _filthy_ that he flinches before Fjord is striding off after his family without a second glance. 

The guards, now used to the unannounced arrivals of the Mighty Nein, are watching in alert confusion, unsure if they should be alarming anyone and giving him a questioning look as though seeking instruction. Essek realises now that he’s sopping, disheveled, and not floating in front of them. And the Mighty Nein, still recent additions to being allies of the Dynasty, had just dressed him, _the Shadowhand_ , down in front of them. 

But Essek doesn't care. He is piecing together the last few minutes in his mind- the Sanatorium, Caleb shaking, the Assembly, Caleb vomiting, the delivery of the beacons, Caleb’s sparsely-shared history-

And then it clicks. 

It had taken a few minutes for his tentative new future with them to come crashing down around him. And to blame was treasonous memory overlapping with Jester's perfectly vivid description with their similarities. And it had cost him _everything_.

Once again, he had hurt those he came to care about, by simple doing something awful before he had even come to care about them. 

* * *

The blood is pounding in his ears, the energy is humming in his veins, and echoes of his friends abandoning him in the lonely halls envelope him. 

It is the worst feeling he has ever known.

**Author's Note:**

> .....sorry :(


End file.
